I sat in my living floor a few nights ago, exhausted but waiting for my daughter and grands to stop by. It had been a long day at work and I just wanted to smoke it away until my eyes closed.

But any opportunity to see those million-dollar grands is a welcomed one so I waited. And waited. And waited. Did I mention that I was exhausted?

Around 8:45pm, enters daughter and crew and I knew instantly that she and I had experienced similar days. I asked what was wrong she said she didn’t want to talk about it. I said “Ok.”, and sat there quietly watching the kids excitedly kick off shoes and head for the toy closet.

When like a brewing summer storm, I was pissed. Instantly. The nerve of her to bring that shit in here.

As if que’d by the universe, one of my granddaughter’s sprinted toward me and leaped into my arms with laughter, providing the perfect reset for me.

I took a deep breath. I looked into the kitchen and saw that her mood was still flat and calmly said,

“Look. If I walked into your house and asked you what was wrong and you said you didn’t want to talk about it, cool. That’s your space. But you don’t get to walk into my space with that energy and tell me some mess about you don’t want to talk about. You don’t get to do that to me in here.

She eventually told me what was wrong. While talking to her, my cellphone rings and I see the familiar AARUNDELCOMD appear on the screen and say outloud, interrupting my daughter, “I just can’t do this right now.” referring to her brother’s incoming jail call. But I meant it for all of them. Even the child of mine who was hundreds of miles away, minding his business in NYC.

I just can’t do this right now.

Kids are fucking exhausting. And don’t you think for a moment that they’ll reach adulthood and get easier to deal with. Ain’t happening, folks.

Seriously though, there’s this balancing act that you do with motherhood and womanhood. They are too very separate entities but that doesn’t stop them from weaving in and out of each other.

There’s no off switch. You don’t get to decide that Monday through Wednesday is for the kids and tending to their needs, and the rest of the week is for tending to yours. Somewhere between your hormonal changes and your kids and theirs, you are expected to find balance, put your cape on, bake fresh cookies from scratch, kiss boo-boo’s, dish out advice, pay attention to your partner, schedule blowjobs, show up for invites and girls nights out, parent teacher conferences and put it all on pause for 8-plus hours while showing up for a job you can’t stand.

Our pussies are tired.

We focus on the pretty side of motherhood alot. The pregnancy, the act of labor and the first look at unconditional love. Awww, our beautiful babies. But something else slides out of that vajayjay with those babies. Your individuality. You’re a mom now. Your world will forever flow around your nucleus of children, yay. You lose pieces of yourself. Boo.

As you get older though and the children become independent minions, preparing to take flight from the nest, you get a hankering to do the same. It is one of the most depressing experiences ever. Because for most of us working class poor folks with pre-paid debit cards and student loans, there’s nowhere to go.

My children became adults and I looked back over my life and sadly realized there was never a part of my path that they hadn’t walk with me. Those hard parts that should be for your eyes only? My kids saw it all.

I became a mom at 19 years old. By the age of 23, I had given birth to five children and buried one. Overnight, I had to woman-up and didn’t even know a fucking thing about becoming a women besides sexing. I was out here in full relationships, having babies left and right and didn’t even know how to feel about any of it. I spent my 20s on auto-pilot. I had a whole gang of ancestors and guardian angels pressing buttons in my back because I had no idea what I was doing.

My kids survived the fog of my twenties and when I hit my thirties, I looked around and thought, “Who are these little people”? Terry McMillan perfectly described that experience in her book, A Day Late and A Dollar Short. She writes, “Instead of seeing you all as four, beautiful individual lights, I had clumped you together as one big bulb.”

Yep. Me too. So I spent my thirties running out of a bad marriage and into getting to know my kids. I just want to add that my children are the most dynamic people that I’ve ever met in my entire life. 25 years later and I still can’t believe that I gave birth to these awesome individuals.

My thirties were theirs. They entered their twenties, I turned 40 and decided that my forties were for me.

Life said, “Bitch, please”.

I became a grandmother. My youngest son became a career criminal. My oldest son became a gypsy. My middle son became my mouthy ass roommate. I was working a job that had me coming home in tears everyday.

My nest started to empty and so did I. Everybody was fighting to get out of the door and so was I. I didn’t want any of it anymore. I was tired and lonely and just completely exhausted from juggling my mom, being a mom, being a grandmom, being a manager, being a friend, a niece…. I was done.

My response to it all was to alienate myself. I didn’t go anywhere but work. If I wasn’t working, I had my grandkids. I made excuses, declined invites and ate myself into oblivion. And I certainly wasn’t getting any dick.

All of that murky energy and I wasn’t releasing any of it, in any way.

I wish that I had some poignant revelation of personal rebirth and my shiny, new perfect life to share at this point but I don’t. I work continously on me but some things are stored in my mental attic. I know that there’s stuff up there that I still need to take a look at, but I’m still fighting to keep my mental living room and bedrooms in order. I’ll get to the attic one day. Just not today. In the meantime though…

If it feels good, I’m with it. I had never paid attention to feeling much of anything in my life. So now that’s all that matters. I check the vibe and proceed. I’m relentless when it comes to my peace and feeling fucking good now. I felt bad for too many years of my life. I protect me at all costs. Whether that looks like walking away from a job, distancing myself from toxic family, or saying no to toxic dick. I don’t play with it. Even if it comes to checking my daughter by saying, “You can’t bring that in here.” I want to feel good. If that looks like unplanned weekend getaway or acting on attraction and having a mind-blowing, leg shaking experience, I welcome it.

I’ve given so much of myself away. Out of obligation, and just plain ole not knowing any better. We don’t get a pause button and we do not get an off switch. We are out here spreading ourselves like butter because we forget to save the best parts for us. We didn’t make it through all of what we’ve made it through to reach this part and be exhausted. Take a spin class or somebody’s man, hahahaaa!

You just make sure you don’t forget about yourself while you’re remembering everyone else.

Save your best part for you.

2 thoughts on “#midweekmissle: Tired Pussy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s